The Wedding Dress
by Sgt. Moffitt
Summary: Weddings can be very complicated affairs. Just ask the bride!


_A/N: I don't own Hogan's Heroes, and I don't get paid for this; it is truly a labor of love._

* * *

_Ever come across an HH episode that makes you wonder how the Heroes got away with their latest caper? And ever think that Hogan is just a bit insensitive to the people he manipulates as part of his schemes?_

_I've always felt sorry for _Fr__ä__ulein_ Burkhalter and thought she got a raw deal in "Gowns by Yvette". And why the heck didn't the Gestapo arrest Hogan again, once it was clear that the bride had been impersonated and the underground agent had escaped?_

_So here are some missing scenes from that episode: a few lines of dialogue from the episode have been included.  
_

* * *

_**Prologue**_

They met in a secluded park in Berlin and sat down on a bench beneath an old chestnut tree. A casual observer would have considered them to be an unromantic couple indeed: the woman was past the first blush of youth, and her beautiful eyes and smile could not compensate for her figure, which unfortunately was far from willowy. The man was even older than she was, and not at all handsome himself.

But their feelings were genuine, and who is to say that romance is only for the young and beautiful?

"Is it true, Ludwig?" the lady whispered.

Her companion sighed. "Yes, _Liebling_. My orders came today; I am to report to Army Group South in a few weeks."

His hand convulsively gripped hers, and she put her head on his shoulder.

_Ludwig...darling Ludwig, _she thought. _You were never meant to be a soldier, and now you must go to the Russian Front! What if I never see you again?_

_Frieda...darling Frieda, _he thought. _I never wanted to be a soldier, and I don't want to go to the Russian Front. What if I never see you again?_

Ludwig touched Frieda's sweet face fleetingly as he gazed into her eyes. "I would ask you to marry me before I must leave, but I'm sure your family would never approve. I may bear the title of _Graf,_ but that counts for nothing these days. And your uncle is a powerful member of the General Staff: he would see me for what I am, a penniless member of the minor nobility, middle-aged and balding. I have nothing to offer you, nothing but my heart."

She cradled his hand against her cheek. "Your heart is all I ask, _mein Engel._"

He caught his breath. "_Liebling!_ Then I'll do it. I shall ask General Burkhalter for your hand in marriage!_"_

And as the two embraced, a light snow began to drift down.

* * *

_**Hammelburg, Germany, a few weeks later**_

A magisterial figure stood at the foot of the stairs in the lobby of the Hauserhof Hotel, smiling genially at the couple descending. "Ah, Count von Hertzel! Is it not bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?"

The plump little lady clinging to the Count's arm blushed. "The wedding isn't until the day after tomorrow, _Onkel _Albert."

Her escort patted her hand. "And I'm sure General Burkhalter would not begrudge me the few hours I have left to spend with you, _Liebling."_

The General swelled with importance. "You are under a misapprehension, my dear Count. Isn't a honeymoon customary after one gets married?"

Count von Hertzel and Frieda Burkhalter stared at him. _"A h__oneymoon?"_ they gasped.

Burkhalter nodded. "_Ja,_ of course. And after your return, Count, I have arranged for you to be assigned to my staff. I am sure that an aide such as yourself will be most helpful to me."

Frieda gasped again. "Your aide? Not...not the Russian Front?"

"Of course not, my dear. Our family has contributed enough to that cause, what with your _Onkel_ Otto missing in action there for the last few years."

The Count reached out and shook his hand vigorously. "_Danke!"_

"Think nothing of it, my boy." The General surveyed his niece with a benign expression. "And what are your plans for the day, my dear?"

"We must make arrangements for the wedding reception, _Onkel_ Albert," said Frieda. "And I have yet to choose my wedding gown."

"I have already ordered Colonel Klink to make the arrangements for the reception," said Burkhalter. "In fact, I am on my way to meet with him now. But where will you find a dress?"

"At the department store here in Hammelburg, I suppose," replied Frieda, whose attention was on her beaming fiancé. "It doesn't really matter, does it?"

Burkhalter frowned slightly, and said: "For a Burkhalter, it matters. Perhaps I should attend to this myself? But I must go now; I shall see you both later."

With that, he was gone, but he showed up for lunch an hour later and he was all smiles. "My dear Frieda, don't worry about your wedding gown. It is to be made by Yvette of Paris!"

* * *

Later that afternoon Frieda heard a knock on the door of her hotel suite. "Come in!" she called.

When a stout man wearing a Luftwaffe uniform escorted two men in Allied uniform into her room, she wasn't entirely surprised. _Onkel_ Albert had told her that Yvette of Paris was actually a man (as so many _haute couture_ designers apparently were) and currently a prisoner of war at Luftstalag 13.

So she smiled on the little Frenchman. How sad that he was a prisoner! And he was so very friendly and helpful. He and his companion, an _Engl__ä__nder,_ went to work at once.

Within a few minutes they had her measurements and an idea of what she liked best in a gown. Frieda knew herself to be no great beauty, but the luxurious fabric they had brought along was gorgeous, and she thought it would show her to her best advantage.

They were in the midst of a lively discussion about the proposed length of the train when an urgent voice was heard from the hallway: "Schultz! Schultz!"

Sergeant Schultz happened to be the name of the guard who was in charge of Yvette and the _Engl__ä__nder, _and he opened the door to reveal two men standing outside in the corridor.

One of them wore ominous black, with a little swastika pin displayed on his tie; obviously Gestapo, Frieda thought. He was gripping the arm of a second man who was dressed in the uniform of an American airman, and whose wrists were bound in handcuffs.

The American asked Sergeant Schultz to vouch for him, and the Sergeant replied promptly: "Colonel Hogan is here with Yvette of Paris. They are making a wedding gown for the niece of General Burkhalter, by _order_ of General Burkhalter!"

Before the astounded Frieda could say anything, Yvette flew into a rage.

"This is all too upsetting! I cannot create under these conditions!" He turned briefly to address Frieda. "I'll be back later! Come, Newkirk."

With that, Yvette stormed off down the corridor, with the _Engl__ä____nder_ and Sergeant Schultz in hot pursuit_. _Meanwhile, Colonel Hogan held up his manacled wrists and the Gestapo man grudgingly unlocked them.

The Gestapo man watched the Colonel stride off down the hall, and then he became aware of Frieda standing in the doorway. He touched the brim of his hat with a slight smile, but Frieda was in no frame of mind to acknowledge the courtesy.

She slammed the door in his face and then leaned back against it, her heart pounding. She looked down at the silken fabric still clutched in her arms and tried to catch her breath.

_Onkel_ Albert had mentioned arranging for security during the wedding reception but he had not mentioned the Gestapo, and that man in the hallway made her blood run cold. She was the only person who knew that Ludwig shared her loathing of Hitler, and she was very much afraid that her betrothed had fallen under suspicion.

Colonel Hogan was obviously not the man the Gestapo were looking for at the Hauserhof. But what if they were after Ludwig?

* * *

On the morning of the wedding the prisoners from the Luftstalag arrived early with the gown, and Yvette and the _Engl__ä__nder _bustled around Frieda, making final adjustments.

"And I shall meet you back here in your hotel room after the reception," said Yvette. "I just want to make sure everything is in order before you leave for your honeymoon."

Frieda assented, her mind preoccupied with the pleasant anticipation of the upcoming ceremony, but also with the lingering anxiety regarding the Gestapo presence at the Hauserhof. Would she and Ludwig ever feel safe?

She pushed her anxieties aside, however, and the wedding went off without a hitch. And the gown was much admired at the reception, too! But Frieda was very glad when it was time to go upstairs and freshen up prior to her and Ludwig's departure.

Odd, but Yvette was not waiting in her hotel suite. And then she heard it: the alarm for an air raid! She hurried out into the corridor, where the lights had been dimmed and people were rushing by in frantic confusion.

But then the lights came back up and Colonel Hogan appeared, with a disarming smile on his face and Yvette in tow. "Just a practice drill," he said. "Nothing to worry about!"

The Colonel and Yvette took Frieda back into her hotel room, and her gown was much admired again. But it was time to meet Ludwig, and she was anxious to leave. Even more so after it was discovered that a shoulder seam of her gown had come apart, necessitating a quick repair by Yvette.

Colonel Hogan murmured, "I'll tell him you'll be right out," and left the hotel room.

After what seemed an interminable delay, Yvette finished the last few stitches and took his leave. Frieda smoothed her skirts and checked her appearance one last time in the mirror, making a slight adjustment to her veil. She looked out into the corridor but Ludwig was nowhere in sight, so she walked down the hallway to his room and tapped on the door.

No answer. Frowning, she headed for the stairway.

* * *

In the hotel lobby the air raid alarm seemed to have been forgotten as everyone milled about with drinks in their hands. Frieda's new husband was still not to be seen, though.

"Has anyone seen the Count?" Frieda's voice was anxious as she pushed her way through the crowd of well-wishers. For some reason no one seemed to be paying any attention to her, not even _Onkel_ Albert.

Except for Sergeant Schultz, who said helpfully, pointing to the open doorway: "He went that way!"

Frieda stepped out the front entrance of the hotel and peered into the darkness. Then her heart stood still: her new husband was hurrying down the street with a veiled figure clinging to his arm!

_The Gestapo!_ _They are making off with my Ludwig, and no one is even aware!_

Frieda gathered up her skirts and charged off after the pair, leaving the crowd behind her murmuring in puzzlement. Her quarry had just turned the corner and had paused beside Ludwig's car when Frieda caught up with them, her bosom heaving and her eyes ablaze.

"You fiend!" she cried, as she snatched off her bridal veil and began to pummel her _Doppelg__ä__nger_ with it. The confection of tulle, lace and flowers was hardly a deadly weapon, though, and her victim responded only by raising his arms to shield his face.

As she suspected, it was indeed a man; his own veil came off in the attack and Frieda beheld a burly middle-aged fellow, but not one of the Gestapo agents she had seen at the Hauserhof, as she had feared.

"Please, Countess, you don't understand!" he said, but he was interrupted by the Count, whose agitation was apparent.

"No time to explain!" he said. "Everybody in the car!" And Frieda was pulled into the waiting vehicle willy-nilly.

The faux bride got into the front seat and he trod on the accelerator without further ado. Frieda clung to her seat as the car roared off, and then she turned to face her new husband.

The next moment she shrank back, her eyes wide with fear. "You are not my husband!"

Ludwig's _Doppelg__ä__nger _gave an apologetic cough. "Well, no, Countess."

Frieda's eyes filled with tears. "What have you done with my Ludwig?"

"I'm here, _Liebling,"_ said a wobbly voice from the front seat, and Frieda pushed the other man aside to see who had spoken. It was Ludwig, wearing a workman's shirt and trousers!

He seemed a bit groggy but unhurt, and Frieda's overwhelming sense of fear subsided a bit; however, her anger had not diminished and she turned to the man who had dared to impersonate her husband.

"What have you done with my Ludwig?" she repeated.

"He's not hurt, Countess," the man said earnestly. "I wouldn't hurt Ludwig!"

Frieda was about to protest this unwarranted familiarity, but Ludwig spoke again from the front seat.

"Frieda, my dear, meet my cousin Fritz Grüber, former adjutant for Luftstalag 13. Oh, wait, I'm sorry, he's not going by that name these days. But he is indeed my cousin."

"Your cousin?" Frieda said. "Not Gestapo?"

"No, no, not Gestapo," the one-time Fritz assured her. "Just trying to keep someone out of Gestapo hands, actually."

Frieda sat back against the car seat and closed her eyes for a moment. Then they flew open again, and she said, "You are referring to the man driving this car."

Fritz and Ludwig were silent, and Frieda added, "You were sneaking him out of the Hauserhof dressed as me. This has something to do with the prisoners of war who made my wedding dress, doesn't it?"

Fritz and Ludwig still had nothing to say, and the man driving the car kept his attention firmly fixed on the road.

Frieda was feeling much more cheerful now. "Oh, I don't mind helping them if it means keeping someone out of the clutches of the Gestapo. And of course I know Ludwig would do anything he could to help as well. Wouldn't you, Ludwig?"

Fritz gave another apologetic cough before Ludwig could answer. "Actually, I didn't have the opportunity to enlist his aid. I met him outside the hotel right after the wedding to propose a toast to the new bride."

"He put something in the champagne," said Ludwig. "Next thing I knew, I woke up in the car."

"Well, I wasn't sure how you'd react," Fritz said defensively. "And Colonel Hogan and I decided we couldn't take the chance that you wouldn't notice that someone had taken Frieda's place."

"So you took Ludwig's place," said Frieda, "and got the gentleman out of the Hauserhof. _Sehr gut._ Now what?"

"What do you mean?" asked Fritz, giving her a cautious look.

"I mean that the Gestapo at the Hauserhof are probably wondering right now where their prisoner is," Frieda replied tartly. "And since Ludwig was seen escorting a veiled figure out of the hotel who obviously wasn't_ me,_ he will be under suspicion now, will he not?" She added, "Not to mention Colonel Hogan and his men, because of their connection to the wedding dress."

Fritz didn't answer, and Ludwig gave a weak chuckle. "Didn't think of that little detail, did you, Fritz?"

"Well, I..."

"Never mind," Frieda told him, in a tone that brooked no argument. "I shall have to take a hand in this. Now, you and your friend need to get safely away; where can we drop you off?"

* * *

Half an hour later, a car pulled up in front of _Krankenhaus_ _Hammelburg _and a rather zaftig lady emerged from the driver's seat. She rushed over to a gentleman who was heading toward the front entrance.

"Oh sir, oh please! Help me, my husband is ill and must see a doctor!"

The gentleman bowed slightly. "Of course, _gn__ädige Frau._ __I happen to be a doctor; allow me to assist you."

Between the two of them, they got her husband out of the passenger seat and guided his tottering steps to the front entrance of the hospital.

* * *

Much later, General Albert Burkhalter stood at the foot of the hospital bed and pronounced judgment.

"A very strange affair," he said.

Ludwig gave a muffled groan but kept his eyes closed, and Frieda patted his hand consolingly. "Never mind, my dear. You are safe now." She looked up at her uncle. "You are probably wondering what happened."

The General fixed her with an icy glare. "Well? The last I saw of you, you were running after the Count and someone dressed in what looked like your wedding gown. Obviously we had all assumed that person was you."

"So of course I knew something was terribly wrong," said Frieda. "And when I caught up with them, my worst fears were realized! That ruffian had struck down my Ludwig and was about to steal his car. When he saw me approaching he ran off, but of course I couldn't follow him. I had to get my husband to the hospital."

"Understandable, my dear. But a ruffian in a _wedding dress?"_

_"Ja,_ that was the strange part," Frieda nodded. "But I have been sitting here thinking about it, and I believe I know what it was all about."

Burkhalter sighed. "Go on."

She took a deep breath. "After Yvette of Paris first met with me in my hotel room, he had to leave in a hurry because a Gestapo man was out in the hall with a Colonel Hogan in custody. But it turned out that Colonel Hogan wasn't the man the Gestapo was looking for at all, because he was at the Hauserhof with his men, the ones who were providing me with the wedding dress."

She cleared her throat and added carefully, "They had taken my measurements and decided on the dress design, but left the fabric behind. I sent it on later to the Luftstalag so they could work on the dress, except for one bolt of fabric that wasn't needed. When I returned to my room last evening after dinner, that bolt of fabric had disappeared. I didn't want to cause a fuss on the night before my wedding, of course, so I said nothing. Now, I am thinking that the the ruffian who attacked my Ludwig was the man the Gestapo were looking for! He stole the fabric from my room and made a rough copy of my wedding dress so he could pose as me and sneak out of the Hauserhof without the Gestapo noticing."

Her uncle stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. That is possibly what happened."

Frieda sighed. "But now I am worried about you, _Onkel_ Albert."

Burkhalter sputtered, "You are worried about _me?"_

"_Ja,_ of course!" She made a helpless movement with the hand that wasn't clasping Ludwig's. _"You_ were the one who arranged for Yvette of Paris to make my gown, and the man who escaped the Gestapo was wearing a gown of the same material! And he was escorted by my new husband, so of course Ludwig will be under suspicion as well."

She shook her head sadly and added, "I think what looks worst for you, _Onkel _Albert, is that you allowed prisoners of war to be involved with my wedding. Why, they were even at the reception!"

The General looked as though he were about to explode, and Frieda said pensively, "If only you could do something to save yourself, _Onkel._ And perhaps save my Ludwig too."

"Rest assured, my dear, I shall deal with the Gestapo," Burkhalter said between his teeth.

"Oh, I am so glad!" fluttered Frieda. "But there is still one problem."

He rubbed his face wearily. "And what is that?"

"It's about the attack on Ludwig," Frieda said.

Ludwig put a hand to his forehead, and spoke for the first time. "I am so sorry, _Herr General, _but I can't remember what happened today at all."

Burkhalter's eyes began to bulge again. "You don't even remember getting married?"

Frieda dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. "_Ja,_ that is what is so tragic! He does not remember marrying me! Whatever shall we do?" She peeped up at her uncle from under her lashes and added, "We're so sorry, _Onkel_ Albert."

Burkhalter sighed. _"_A loss of memory? Who will believe _that?_ I'll be the laughingstock of the General Staff!"

He took a few agitated paces around the small room, and finally declared: "I think it would be best that we send your husband to the finest clinic available...in Switzerland."

"In Switzerland?" Frieda squeaked.

"Yes, my dear, and you must accompany him. Hopefully your presence, along with the appropriate therapy, will enable the Count to regain his memory...however long it may take."

Frieda gave him a misty smile. "That will be perfect, _Onkel _Albert."


End file.
